


Entropic

by Merrinpippy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Elias, Canon-Typical Gertrude, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Various Leitners, of the Mary Keay variety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrinpippy/pseuds/Merrinpippy
Summary: He doesn’t expect Michael to stick around, but he hops up on the desk to watch Gerry get to work. It occurs to him that this man who he’d objectified the second he’d laid eyes on him and deemed exquisite is now his sort-of coworker who he has to interact with, without making himself out to be a total prat. He’s less daunted by the Leitner.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 43
Kudos: 197





	1. Under the Same Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @curiouscorvid whose group chat post on tumblr single-handedly made me fall head over heels for this pairing, and @Mx_Carter for beta reading and being awesome in general!

It is all in all a pretty fucking dreary November morning that Gerry decides to rock up to the Institute and take up Gertrude’s offer of… assistance. He knows little about her other than she has a lot of enemies, most of which align with his own—and that he really owes her for freeing him from his mum—and if he were a superstitious man he would take it as a bad omen. As it is, the freezing winds have bitten at his lips and stolen the moisture from his mouth, so he takes it as a reason to dip into the coffee shop around the corner, first. 

It’s a dingy little shop, nothing special in particular. He’s sure it’s cheaper than the Costa several streets up, though, so it’s good enough for him. There are several eye motifs on the orange and brown wall stencils, and Gerry takes a small moment to wonder if this is on purpose, or whether enough Institute members come here that the Eye has decided to claim this building for its own as well. He should probably get used to the feeling of eyes on him. It’s only going to get worse.

He orders a black coffee, more for the irony of it than anything, and tries not to pay attention to the barista or anyone else, because the last time he gave anyone more attention than the cursory avatar-threat-check he saw a person marked by the Buried and had to waste several days of his life trying to keep them from not-dying horribly. As it happened, it didn’t work, and he doesn’t wish to repeat the experience. 

This does not, however, stop him from noticing the absurdly beautiful man that walks in as Gerry’s about to leave. Don’t pay attention, he tells himself. He pays attention.

Curly blond hair frames the man’s small face, glistening with rain-mist from outside. He’s wearing a sensibly patterned shirt and trousers that really should clash but somehow don’t. He’s clearly flustered in that morning rush kind of way and doesn’t pay Gerry any mind as he speeds to the counter, so Gerry doesn’t need to be subtle in checking him out from behind. No disappointments there. He’s not the type of person that Gerry’s usually attracted to, what with the whole goth thing he’s got going on, but the man has assets and Gerry isn’t above appreciating that. 

He has to take the little joys in life. Or big joys in life, as it were. Especially now that he’s going to be so overtly aligning himself with a power, despite his refusal to take a job offer. 

The steps of the Institute are intimidating, less for their appearance and more for the fact that walking up them feels like walking blind into the gaping maw of some ancient primordial beast, which he kind of is, and Gerry wonders how so much of the population can go about their life genuinely believing that the Magnus Institute is a joke. _Calm down,_ Gerry thinks in what he tells himself is the Eye’s general direction. _I’m here to help. Sort of._

Still, it's a refuge from the wind and not-quite-rain of the outdoors, and when he’s inside he takes a moment to wring out his hair and check that his cigarettes are salvageable.

Receptionist Rosie’s directions take him deep into the old wooden corridors of the Institute, and he can tell when he reaches the Archives by clocking the outfits of the employees he passes. For one, far fewer employees work in or near the Archives, but more glaringly, the amount of employees adhering to the dress code is directly proportional to the distance from it.

Once he’s down in the Archives, though, it’s hard to tell where to go from there. It’s not as if he’d expected Gertrude Robinson to just manifest herself upon his arrival, but it would have been nice of her to tell him exactly where to find her in case he did take her up on the offer. Maybe she’d never expected him to. But Gerry could never resist the chance to destroy a Leitner. 

Almost as soon as he decides to ask the next person he comes across for directions to Gertrude’s office, he stops passing people in the corridors. He’s about to curse his shit luck, or the Eye, until he realises exactly why everyone’s disappeared. Faint sounds of shouting are coming from somewhere up ahead. Not in alarm, but in anger. Someone’s having an argument. He takes a few steps forward, then a few more, to confirm that one of the voices he recognises as Gertrude Robinson’s. Shrugging, he follows the sound until he can almost make out the words being flung at each other, and finds himself in a lounge-type area connected on one side to office doors, and the other to the Main Archive. Across the way, the source of the shouting is a door that reads:

_‘Gertrude Robinson_

_Archivist’_

Suddenly at a loss for what to do, Gerry takes a look around, familiarising himself with the place. It has the weight of an old library, fittingly, though couches and a water cooler have been added. There’s a corkboard on the wall closest to him, with a promotion for the Annual Institute Holiday Party, several takeout leaflets, and a chart that appears to be tallying the amount of crimes committed this month by the research staff. A researcher named Michael seems to be in the lead, followed closely by someone named Jan. It’s good news. It means Gerry will fit right in. 

The shouting shows no signs of stopping, and Gerry contents himself to collapse into the nearest couch and drink his too-hot coffee while waiting them out. The Leitners in the Archives can wait a few more minutes, and Gerry isn’t naive enough to think this will be quick work anyway. It’s been a while since he’s had a break from field work, contesting (read: beating the shit out of) avatars for their Leitners. It’s actually nice to slow down for once; there’s no rush. 

Apparently he’s the only one who thinks that, though, according to the sound of running footsteps rapidly approaching from the way he’d come. 

A strangely familiar man bursts into the lounge, out of breath, coffee in hand. It’s the man from the coffee shop. Gerry is suddenly grateful that his pale makeup and long hair hide his blush. 

The man looks around, taking in the shouting coming from Gertrude’s office, and then grins at Gerry. “Thank goodness,” he says in a stage whisper, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. His voice is soft, friendly. “Thought I was going to be late. I’m Michael, by the way. Are you new?” 

Gerry’s face scrunches up. “No offense, but I’d rather die than sign an employment contract here. I was just invited by Gertrude to uh, help.” 

Michael’s face lights up, and Gerry very carefully doesn’t react. “Oh! She was talking about you earlier. She’ll be happy you’re here.”

Gerry thinks he detects a bit of a lisp in Michael’s voice, but he enunciates carefully enough that it’s barely noticeable. Then he processes what Michael’s actually said, and nods, taking another sip of his coffee. He hisses aloud. It’s still too hot. “Glad to hear it,” he says around his burning tongue. Michael favours him with an amused grin.

“We need all the extra help we can get, really.” He hesitates, sobers slightly. “One of our assistants died in the line of duty a few months back and no-one else has stepped up to fill the role yet. Oh well.” 

“Don’t worry, I may yet die in the line of duty,” Gerry reassures him. “I’m here to work on the Leitners.” 

“Ugh, those buggers,” Michael pulls a face in sympathy. “Awful things. Though I did find one once where all it did was unlink paper chains in the building it resided in. Not too harmful— although it _was_ in a primary school at the time, so maybe it was just as harmful as it needed to be…” 

Gerry casts his mind back to the few Leitner books he hadn’t loathed with a passion. He shrugs. “I found a Death Note once.” 

Michael levels an impressed look his way. Gerry’s about to disappoint him by telling him just how easy it was to destroy when the door to Gertrude’s office swings open— apparently they hadn’t noticed the shouting stop— and a coldly handsome man steps out, straightening his suit. 

He only acknowledges them when the door closes again, nodding in Gerry’s direction with an air of confidence that suggests a high degree of self-importance. Gerry decides immediately that he doesn’t care what the man has to say.

“Welcome to the team, Gerard,” the man says. Gerry struggles not to react to the name. “It may be an informal position for now but if you do want a steady paycheck at any point feel free to knock on my door. I’ll have an employment form waiting.” He leaves at a brisk pace but then pops his head round the corner to glare at Michael. “Oh, and Michael, do try to be punctual next time. We do have coffee in-house.” 

The man does actually leave this time, and Michael looks dismayed to have been caught out. He looks despairingly at the cup in his hands and mutters, “Shit coffee though.” 

Gertrude’s door opens again and the woman of the hour steps out, eyes locking on Gerry immediately. Gerry stands to attention despite himself, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Michael do the same. Gertrude looks much like she did when he last saw her, though she has a shawl around her now that makes her look a lot more harmless. He wonders why she bothers. Everyone who has a reason to know her knows not to underestimate her unless they’re stupid or have a death wish.

“Ah Gerard,” she greets him warmly, like she’s about to offer him cookies. He wonders if it’s for Michael’s benefit. “I was rather hoping you’d join us.”

“I’m only here for—I’ll get rid of the Leitners, but I don’t want anything else to do with the Institute.”

Gertrude nods approvingly. “I understand, don’t you worry. Usually we’d keep things of their like in Artifact Storage, but as you know, they’re somewhat… volatile. Wouldn’t want them to entice an unwary Institute Employee. I’ll take you to where they’re kept if you’ll give me a moment.” 

“I can do that if you like,” Michael pipes up. Gertrude almost seems surprised, but she recovers quickly and nods, waving them away and returning to her office. Michael doesn’t seem discouraged by the quick dismissal, earnest as anything. Gerry feels a pang of pity, though it’s replaced with something else when Michael focuses his attention back on him. “Alright then. Follow me.” 

Gerry does. They make small talk while Gerry tries to memorise the route they take, deeper and deeper into the building. He wonders distantly if they have an elevator, then considers what he knows of the Institute and decides they don’t. The room they arrive at is at the end of a long corridor, which is itself at the end of a long staircase. The texture of the wall is different down here to the walls above, the air earthier, and he gets the impression that this part of the building is much older than the rest. 

Figures. He’s had to mature too fast because of the Leitners. It only makes cosmic sense that working on them again puts him in a place that has beyond aged.

“Ta-da,” Michael says, though the end of the word tilts up in a question. “Ah yes, this _is_ it.” 

Michael flicks on the light. The room is bare apart from an old desk and a single set of shelves with clear tupperware-ish containers, each containing one Leitner and a few loose papers. There are about twenty, give or take, and Gerry doesn’t need to be aligned with the Eye to know he’s going to be here for a while. At least there are no cobwebs. 

“Bit empty,” he says. Michael frowns, and Gerry instantly feels guilty, which annoys him in turn. 

“I’m sure no-one will notice if you spruce the place up a bit.” 

“Bit of black here, bit of purple there… I could see it working.” Gerry pictures recreating his rebellious childhood bedroom here in the Archives. He likes the thought.

“Might want a chair,” Michael adds, much more sensibly. “I’ll see if I can get someone to bring any spares down, make your job a bit easier.” 

“Thank you,” Gerry says and means it, though he doesn’t mind sitting on the floor. He’ll probably need to get up frequently anyway to acquire various methods of destruction. He doesn’t put too much thought into which box to go for first, just picks one and drops it on the floor, following quickly after. 

He doesn’t expect Michael to stick around, but he hops up on the desk to watch Gerry get to work. It occurs to him that this man who he’d objectified the second he’d laid eyes on him and deemed exquisite is now his sort-of coworker who he has to interact with, without making himself out to be a total prat. He’s less daunted by the Leitner.

The book he has chosen looks to be a unique version of _The Prince_ by Machiavelli. Gerry takes a pair of disposable gloves from one of his many jacket pockets and slips them on. After a second of hesitation, he takes another pair out and tosses them in Michael’s direction, resolutely not watching him put them on for fear of fixating on his hands, as he is wont to do with hot people. He’s going to have to rein himself in at some point if he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself. May as well start now.

This Leitner comes with notes from its corresponding case file. He skims it, reading the important parts out loud to keep Michael in the loop. He’s not _used_ to company, but he does appreciate it. 

Apparently _The Prince_ was found in a bloodbath after its most recent owner took the words too much to heart and started manipulating and then actively hurting his friends and family in little increments that led, eventually, to violence and murder. The notes posit that from other accounts the majority of the text remains unchanged, with only small nudges of intent to poison the reader’s thoughts, though whoever wrote this put several question marks here and wrote that they were unwilling to read it themselves to find out. Gerry might be inclined to assign this to the Web out of hand because it’s _Machiavelli_ but from these notes, it appears to be quite clearly the work of the Slaughter. He’s quite grateful for the gloves now.

It does present a problem, though, because the thing about Slaughter books is that they generally _like_ to be destroyed, so Gerry needs to find a way to destroy it without actually destroying it. 

So, an easy start to the day then. 

“Don’t bother burning it,” Michael pipes up. “We tried that in the beginning. It… didn’t go well. Pretty sure no-one’s allowed in that room anymore actually.” 

Gerry nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. Uh, have you dealt with many Leitners?” 

Michael shrugs. “A few of these. A few others. Harder to _not_ come across them working at the Archives than to come across them, really.” 

Frustrating that. Gerry knows more than most just how persistent Leitners can be, and he grumbles, “Shame. I do prefer a good burn and ditch.” 

“Mm, we do love arson in the Archives. Well, not _in_ the Archives, Miss Robinson would have a field day, but—” Michael laughs. It’s an incredibly pleasant sound, strange and unique and delightful. “You get the picture.” 

Gerry does. “You’re winning the department’s crime count, aren’t you? I saw the chart.” 

Michael’s eyes light up. “Oh, you know. Be gay, do crimes, all that.” 

Gerry’s stomach flip-flops, and he mumbles out an affirmation and returns to the Leitner notes. After a while of companionable silence and not much headway, Michael makes a regretful noise and stands up from his perch. 

“This has been lovely, but unfortunately I should probably check if Miss Robinsons needs anything, and uh, do my actual job. But if you need anything, feel free to give me a call. Gerard, was it?”

Gerry flinches. “No! No, uh. No. I— my friends call me Gerry,” he says quickly. 

Michael blinks, then smiles. “In that case, good to meet you, Gerry!” 

Gerry manages a quick reciprocation before Michael is out the door. “It really is,” he says to no-one. 

He’d had his doubts about working in a stronghold— no, _the_ stronghold of the Eye, unmarked as he is by the powers and therefore far more defenseless (though hardly without his ways). And to be honest, the room he’s been given is… dingy at best. But he’s doing what he’s meant to be doing, his self-given life purpose, and he’s not within his mother’s grasp, and now? He has a cute gay coworker. 

Life’s looking up.

* * *

Gerry’s life is fucking terrible. 

He _knows_ Leitners are annoying. More than anyone. But these ones… he’d given up on _The Prince_ and had a look at all the others in storage. Most of them are easy to assign to a power, though there is one that he’s having trouble defining from the case files alone. He’s brought his lighter, obviously, along with his cigarettes, but only one of the books take to being set on fire, and that really is his favoured method of destroying them.

He’ll need more supplies. And he’ll need to get more creative. 

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Oh! Still here in the… exact same position.” Michael laughs. “Miss Robinson does this too. Come on up.” 

Michael pulls him from the floor with a warm, firm grip, and sure enough, Gerry’s joints creak with the time he’s spent on the floor. He mutters a quick _oh fuck_ as an automatic response while he rights himself, but then realises that Michaels hand is still curled around his forearm keeping him steady.

“Hey Michael,” he says, and is thankful Michael doesn’t know him well enough to know when his voice is pitched slightly too high. “How long have I—?” 

“Oh, _way_ past closing time."

"That’s not a problem. I don't work here." 

"You still need to take better care of yourself," Michael scolds. "Maybe it would help if we got you a clock…"

Gerry stretches. "Or a cot, perhaps," he says, taking in again the empty space of his new office. 

Michael hesitates. "You do— you do _have_ a place to stay, right?"

Gerry gives a snort of amusement. "Yes! Yes, don't worry, I just meant. I've been traveling a lot on my whole destroy-every-Leitner crusade, so I've only just got a flat and it's tiny and. Not actually much better than this room."

"Do you want a coffee?" 

Gerry blinks. His mouth quirks up. "I know you know we both already had coffee from the exact same shop today. I thought you wanted me to be healthier?" 

"I said you should take better care of yourself, I didn't say you should go for a sainthood." Michael soldiers on while Gerry snickers at him. "I mean. I mean. Have you eaten at all today?" 

That shuts Gerry up. 

"Hmm. How about we go back to that coffee shop and we'll get some food in you? My treat." 

"I couldn't possibly—" 

"Of course you could. If you must, think of it as a welcome gift, yes?" 

Gerry's thinking of a way to refuse politely before he realises he doesn't actually want to. He supposes he's just used to the solitary life. It's a wonder the Lonely hasn't claimed him yet. But here is his hot coworker offering him a free drink. Who is he to refuse? 

Gerry makes a considering noise, just for good measure, and then relents. 

"Wonderful! Let me just grab my coat." 

Gerry follows Michael back out through the Archives, past the lounge and into Michael’s own office, a much cosier space. Michael takes from the back of his chair a baby blue pea coat that Gerry is certain Michael wasn't wearing this morning. 

He frowns. "You didn't have that earlier. Did you?" 

Michael takes a second to respond, bemused. "Oh? No, I must admit I forgot it here last night. Not doing that again, not in this weather. I'm quite forgetful, Miss Robinson's always on my back about it— as is her right, of course— and I'm even trying the string-around-the-finger method to see if it helps."

Sure enough, the pinky Michael brandishes at him is wrapped in yellow string. 

Gerry gestures at it. "Alright, I'll bite. What's that to remind you of?" 

Michael stares at his pinky for a second. "Hmm," he says, then, "I'm sure it'll come to me. "

Gerry barks out a laugh, then pats Michael on the shoulder in sympathy. 

Michael sputters for a moment, face reddening in the most endearing way. "Let's be off!" he says quickly, and sweeps out of the room. 

Gerry follows behind, still grinning. It’s just as dreary outside as it had been this morning, and darker now for the lateness of the hour, but Gerry finds that this time, he doesn’t mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I have a good 25000 words of this already written and that's only about half of it so if you have you're in for a hefty ride. Feel free to leave a comment and have a nice day! You can find me on tumblr @nightmareclown :)


	2. The Watched Pot Never Boils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry settles in, with a little help from Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while! I've been busy with uni assignments. Thanks again to @Mx_Carter for beta reading!

Gerry notices the name of the cafe they enter this time: The Watched Pot. He can’t even find it within him to be surprised. It’s definitely an Eye stronghold. Of that there is no doubt. 

He is surprised that it’s still open, but Michael seems confident enough in coming here, so Gerry doesn’t let it bother him. Likely part of its purpose is to serve its more dedicated workers in this fashion. He wouldn’t call himself one of those, certainly, but the similarity jars him and makes him uneasy. He will have to be careful, in the coming days, not to fall into its hold.

Michael asks what he wants, breaking him from his thoughts, and he unthinkingly asks for black coffee. Michael laughs at him. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Oh, nothing, I just could have guessed that myself,” Michael says, looking him up and down. “No. My money, my rules.” 

Michael goes ahead and orders them two deluxe hot chocolates, a toastie, and a slice of carrot cake. They take the food away with grateful thanks and Michael leads him to a secluded corner table. There aren’t many people here, Gerry notices, but there are a few. Presumably, they’re all Institute employees. Michael sits with an ease that Gerry doesn’t quite possess, here.

Michael takes a butter knife to the cake, cutting it in half. Gerry waits to do the same to the toastie, but when Michael sees, he laughs again. 

“Don’t be absurd. You haven’t eaten. Go at it.” 

“But—” 

“My money, my rules. Like I said. Go ham.” 

“Ridiculous,” Gerry mutters, hiding a smile behind the toastie as he takes the first bite. It’s actually… really good. For a coffee shop. Michael gives him a knowing look. 

The silence that follows is companionable as they wait for their drinks. Gerry isn’t ashamed to admit that he completely devours the toastie; Michael was right, he’s starving. 

Michael only speaks after Gerry has taken a napkin to his mouth, likely smudging his black lipstick. It’s probably punk as hell, so he doesn’t mind. “So, travelling?” 

“Travelling?” 

“Mm, you mentioned you’ve been away from London.” 

“Oh!” Gerry nods. “Yes, I’ve been around. Italy, Japan, the like. That’s where I found the Death Note Leitner actually.” 

Michael’s eyes practically sparkle at the mention. “Please elaborate.” 

Gerry shrugs, unused to storytelling, or indeed talking to people about his work. “There’s not _much_ to tell… some anime-obsessed teen had gotten hold of some really authentic merch, or so they thought. People started dropping like flies, y’know, from his school and such. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.” He frowns. “He felt guilty in the end. Last page in the book was his own.” 

To his credit, Michael sobers instantly. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Yes. Well.” Gerry clears his throat, uncomfortable at having brought down the mood. “It was easy to destroy at least. Its title was literally ‘Death Note’, as a lure, but that meant that writing ‘Death Note’ inside the book destroyed it quite efficiently. Job done.” 

“You’re quite the experienced hunter then,” Michael says.

“I like to think so, yeah.” Gerry briefly considers mentioning his childhood, his mum, but then the barista brings their drinks and he decides to drop the topic. 

The hot chocolate is unsurprisingly also fantastic. Gerry nearly moans. No wonder the Eye has claimed this place. What came first, the skill or the knowledge? Did the quality of the drinks attract the Eye’s attention with its employees, or does the Eye automatically grant Coffee Skills to anyone who works here? 

Michael laughs. “Such a look of concentration, for a simple hot chocolate.” 

“Not just simple. This is wonderful.” 

Michael looks smug. “Better than a black coffee, I’m sure.” 

Gerry places his hands on the table, leaning in. “Look. Sometimes you just have to commit to your aesthetic, at the cost of delicious hot chocolate.” 

“Alright, perhaps next time I’ll see if they can make it a _dark_ hot chocolate. Better?” 

“Much.” 

Michael rolls his eyes, a smile still playing on his face. “So what is it then? Emo, goth, or punk?” 

Gerry considers this. “I think I should be offended that you can’t tell.” 

“Perhaps,” Michael agrees. Gerry shakes his head, mock offended. “I never had a phase like that. My, ah, friends like to tell me I haven’t reached that stage of life yet, that I’ll get to it eventually.” 

Gerry makes a show of gasping and looking Michael in the eye, over-earnest. “That’s it!” he says. “That’s what the string is to remind you of— to have your emo phase!” 

Michael slaps his forehead with his stringed hand, grinning at his stupid joke. “Of course! That must be it. How could I have forgotten?” 

They dissolve into giggles, probably more out of exhaustion than anything else. Gerry’s eyelids are starting to droop. 

“It’s late. You must be tired, bless,” Michael says, proving himself the gentleman for what must be the third time today. “We should get you home.”

“I’m tired, not drunk,” Gerry protests, but goes with Michael when he stands. Unfortunately their trips home are in opposite directions so they bid each other good night outside The Watched Pot. 

“I suppose I’ll see you here in the morning,” Michael smiles. The flip-flop feeling comes back, and Gerry just nods. 

Nothing else eventful happens that night apart from Gerry tripping over an Evanescence poster that had fallen from his wall while he’d been out. He can’t bring himself to put it back up yet, and barely manages to take his shoes off before he collapses into bed, out like a light.

* * *

He makes it to the door of his flat in yesterday’s clothes the next morning before he realises that Michael will _definitely_ notice if he’s in the same clothes as last night, and begrudgingly goes back to change. 

He feels a bit like a character from My Immortal when he’s done, which only annoys him insofar as he’s definitely had to destroy a Leitner edition of My Immortal and doesn’t like to remember the experience. The Evanescence poster remains on the floor due to laziness, and his hair is still slightly damp from the walk home last night. He grabs a selection of pens, including black sharpie and a glittery pink gel pen, to use to write notes later. At least one of them should be working.

All in all, he’s doing great. 

He has an encounter with Michael to look forward to, or so he thinks, when he turns up to The Watched Pot half an hour later. He’s running late now, though, and there’s no sign of his attractive coworker anywhere. He still goes in, of course— he’s not getting a paycheck so he can be as late as he likes, really. 

He decides on another black coffee out of simple pettiness and makes his way into the Institute another ten minutes later. Receptionist Rosie isn’t at her usual post and he wonders if he’s managed to miss a memo somehow as he traces what he hopes are yesterday’s footsteps. 

There’s noise coming from his new office when he finally reaches it, and for a split second he worries that Gertrude and the other man have moved their argument there to inconvenience him for a second day in a row before dismissing that thought like the garbage it is.

He does recognise the voices, but neither belongs to Gertrude, and when he pushes open the door it’s to find Rosie and Michael navigating a heavy computer chair to the desk and installing a black clock on the wall, respectively. 

“I— what?” 

Both turn to look at him. 

“Oh, good morning!” Rosie greets first. “Michael was just getting me to help with your new digs.” 

“Hope you don’t mind,” Michael interjects. “I just thought you’d be a bit more comfortable in a chair. And with a clock.” 

Rosie lets go of the chair, now in place behind the desk, and dusts her hands off. She looks supremely satisfied, and gives him a pat on the shoulder as she leaves them to it. Gerry’s gaze wanders to the clock Michael is putting up. It’s a wall clock that looks like one of The Cure’s albums. One of The Cure’s albums Gerry owns, in fact. Michael grins. 

“I see you’ve decided it’s goth,” Gerry comments lightly. He isn’t wrong. 

Michael nods with enthusiasm, brandishing his hammer cheerfully. “It fits the theme, so there’s no reason to get rid of it and then not know the time!” 

“I see.” 

Michael stares at him, lowering the hammer. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Gerry blinks several times. “No, not at all, it’s— thank you. Really.” 

Michael gives him a warm smile. “No problem. Oh, a few of us are going out for drinks later, do you want to join?” 

Gerry’s eyes flicker to the box of Leitners and back. “Er, who exactly?” 

“Oh, just me, Rosie, and Jan. Nothing too scary.” 

“If you’re sure,” Gerry says dubiously, but Michael brushes him off. 

“Of course I’m sure, silly. I suppose you’ll be wanting to fit in as much work as possible before then, judging by yesterday. Clock, remember? I’ll come get you at five.” 

Michael salutes him with the hammer on his way out, managing to hit himself with it and resulting in his departure being followed by pained grumbling, followed again by Gerry’s bemused huffs of quiet laughter. What a strange workplace this is turning out to be, he thinks.

He works at the desk today, notes spread out across it and being added to in Gerry’s messy scrawl. It’s far more comfortable than the day before, but he finds himself glancing up at the clock every few minutes anyway, waiting. 

It is exactly two minutes past five when Michael next knocks on his door, and in the time elapsed Gerry has written _so_ many notes and destroyed zero Leitners. It doesn’t bother him as much as it had yesterday, and it is easy for him to leave his work on the desk and follow Michael out once more. 

Rosie and a man Gerry assumes to be Jan are waiting for them by the exit to the Institute, and it’s early enough in the day that other employees are leaving the building with them. Being November, it’s still dark outside, but in a sort of comforting winter-y way, which likely has more to do with the company than the weather. 

“I’m Jan,” the man introduces himself as they walk, Rosie and Michael having their own conversation in front, something about knitting patterns. “I’m the other archival assistant here.” 

“Gerry,” Gerry responds. Jan seems to have trouble keeping eye contact, and looks tired. “Rough day?” 

“Hmm?” Jan looks up. “Oh, not really. Gertrude’s passed me a few files she wants to look into, I’m preparing to do a bit of light breaking and entering, the usual. You?” 

“The Leitners continue to be a pain in my ass,” Gerry confides. 

Jan nods distractedly. “Are there any… any about space? And the like?” 

Does he mean the Vast? Gerry frowns. “Uh, a few, I think. Why?” 

Jan doesn’t answer. “If you can find some kind of trash compactor I feel like that might do the trick. Maybe.” 

“Oh,” Gerry responds. “Thanks.” 

Jan shrugs it off, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t mention it. Seriously.” 

They arrive at the pub soon after, and Jan immediately drags them to a small booth in the middle and sits himself on one of the inner seats. Michael continues his gentlemanly streak by waving a hand and letting Gerry slide past him opposite Jan. 

“So,” Rosie says. “Do we know why Elias and Gertrude have been arguing yet?” 

Jan and Michael both shake their heads, and Gerry of course has nothing to contribute. 

“I do think Elias should leave off,” Michael says, disapproving. “Sometimes research needs to be done outside the Institute, and she does it. It’s not right, shouting at old women like that.” 

Jan grimaces. “Gertrude can hold her own, Michael, even if Elias is a bit… stiff.”

Michael snorts and Rosie shakes her head. “Poor choice of words,” Michael says. Rosie stands. 

“Drinks anyone?” 

Rosie must have a good memory because she writes none of their orders down, even though Jan orders a drink Gerry has never heard of before. Jan goes with her to the counter to help carry things back, leaving Michael and Gerry alone together. It’s only now that Gerry realises they’re close enough in the booth for their knees to be touching, and tries not to let that knowledge colour their interaction, though it certainly colours his cheeks. 

“Any luck today? With the Leitners?” 

Gerry shrugs. “Not much. Jan gave me some advice though. I’ll see if it works.” 

Michael’s expression changes to something Gerry might call pity. “Advice about the Vast?” 

“Yes?” 

“Mm. Needs therapy that one. Not in a mean way,” Michael hastens to add. “Just… we worry for him sometimes.” 

“Touched by the Vast, was he? Nasty one that,” Gerry says, craning a look over his shoulder at Jan, who is sticking very close indeed to Rosie as they wait in the queue. 

“Quite,” Michael says. “What about you? Any run-ins?” 

“The Flesh,” Gerry says, and doesn’t elaborate. 

“Gross.” 

Gerry nods. “It really was.” 

“What happ—” 

“I’d really rather not go into it,” Gerry says quickly, feeling instantly guilty for his tone. But Michael just spreads his hands and smiles. 

“That’s absolutely fine. There is something else we need to go into, though.” 

“What’s that?” 

“I saw your cup this morning. You ordered another black coffee.” 

Gerry groans. “This is not a thing. We do not need to make it a thing.” 

“We absolutely do,” Michael insists, leaning ever closer. “It is a matter of personal pride. On God, we are going to get you good taste in drinks.” 

They both jump back when a drink is near slammed on the table in front of them, announcing Jan and Rosie’s return. 

“Evening gents!” Rosie announces with a slight slur to her words. That explains the slam: her own drink is half empty already. “One piña colada for the newbie emo.”

“Goth,” Gerry corrects. 

“Knew it!” Michael crows, earning him a smile from Gerry. 

“And a mojito for you, lovely,” Rosie says to Michael. 

Rosie and Jan quickly return to a conversation they were clearly having while in line when they sit down. Gerry and Michael clink their glasses together before they drink. Gerry taps the side of his glass. 

“See. I do have good taste.” 

Michael makes a considering sound. “Perhaps,” he allows. 

His smile only gets brighter throughout the night. With every drink Gerry minds the distance between them less and less.

* * *

Michael ends up half carrying Gerry home because Gerry is a disaster of a human being who can’t take care of himself, apparently. Gerry spares a second of brainpower to be mortified at the state he’s left it in, but then it’s redirected to appreciate Michael’s ass as he fills one of Gerry’s cups with tap water. 

Michael is handing the cup to Gerry but he jostles it and spills, and Michael reconsiders. He presses the cup to Gerry’s lips instead. Gerry nearly forgets to swallow. 

Gerry does take the cup from him a moment later, though. “I’m drunk, not tired,” he mutters. Michael laughs and agrees. 

“Is this—” Michael picks the fallen poster from the floor. “Keeping the aesthetic strong I see.” 

Michael gets to work putting the poster back up while Gerry sobers up. 

“You really just care-take wherever you go, don’t you?” 

Michael looks back at him, shifty-eyed. “Gotta make myself useful somehow,” he replies lightly. 

Gerry frowns at that, but in this state cannot quite find the words to articulate the problem he has with it aloud. For now, he just watches. Michael makes a contented sound when the poster’s back up. Gerry echoes the sound. 

He tries to stand. Sways. Michael is there in an instant, keeping him steady. “Caretaker,” Gerry repeats. Michael pries the glass from him and sets it on the nightstand and doesn’t disagree. 

“I’m not Gertrude,” Gerry says suddenly. 

Michael startles. “I— I know that.” 

Gerry nods, satisfied. “Good.” 

Michael looks puzzled, but doesn’t question him. “Are you alright getting into bed? I’d help more but I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate—” 

“That’s third date territory,” Gerry agrees knowingly. Michael goes bright red, and it makes Gerry grin. 

“I’ll— yes. I’ll. See you tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”

Yeah. Work, with his cute new coworker. Burning books, fighting the man, all that. Good. Really good. The best it’s been in a while, actually. 

He can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment or find me on tumblr @nightmareclown. Speculations about which fear My Immortal belongs to welcome. :)


	3. Domain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael hopes his clumsiness doesn't put Gerry off.

Michael Shelley is not a perfect man. 

Sometimes he forgets to put on socks in the morning. Sometimes he doesn’t say please and thank you to the barista at The Watched Pot when he’s in a particular hurry. Sometimes he develops a crush on the new not-employee at the Institute and has to follow him around like a cat for the next several weeks of his life. 

Sometimes he walks in on said not-employee about to shred his arm off in the Leitner room and, instead of wrenching his arm away or calling for help, he grabs the closest fire extinguisher and sprays it at him. 

Foam is everywhere.

It works, though. Michael wonders where he got his disastrous sense self-preservation from, then actively decides not to wonder that anymore, because he’s certain he can find the answer quite easily. He stares at the catastrophe he’s created, while Gerry simply sputters, that strange glaze in his eye gone, completely baffled. 

“Fucking— you— what?” Gerry gets out, after he’s spit some of the foam from his mouth. Michael thinks that’s a pretty fair reaction. 

It occurs to Michael that he has no idea what exactly he’s just sprayed all over Gerry. He tries to hide his panic. “Maybe wash your mouth out. After that. And uh. Take a shower. Sorry.” He winces at himself. 

“Um…” 

He practically trips over himself to explain. “I’m just not sure how healthy fire extinguisher… stuff… is. For the skin. And mouth. Et cetera.” 

Gerry nods, getting to his feet. He slips, falls on his ass again, but on the second try does manage it. “Right.” 

“God, I’m so— maybe take the day off? I think that would be best.” Michael tries to give off the impression that he isn’t completely mortified. He thinks he’s probably failing. “Sorry,” he adds. 

“How about let’s regroup in your lunch break,” Gerry finally suggests. “At our coffee shop.”

Michael nods, still in shock at his own actions when Gerry exits, covered in foam. 

Somehow Michael hadn’t gotten any on him, so he figures it’s only fair of him to clean this whole mess up, since it _is_ his mess. He sets the extinguisher down and heads out to get cleaning materials. He passes Elias on the way back, no doubt headed down to shout with Miss Robinson some more, and gets an exasperated look in return for his greeting. He didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any worse, but he manages it after that. 

He manages to get the place clean surprisingly fast, considering he also needs to clean the shredder thing and the Leitner lying on the floor which dries suspiciously quickly. He’s slightly sweaty with exertion by the time he’s done, having always been a twig of a thing according to his parents and having the stamina to match, but he surveys his handiwork with a smile. 

Gerry’s office, the Leitner room, looks so much better with actual things in it. At Michael’s suggestion, he’d moved several posters from his flat here to make it look more friendly, and of course the clock he’d bought is the centrepiece of the room. He’s… proud. And a little smug. And glad that Gerry looks like he’ll be staying around for a while, despite how annoying his work must be with the Leitners. And with Michael hanging around him more than he probably should. 

A proper apology is no doubt needed, and Michael knows just the thing. He hasn’t bought flowers in ages, and the office will look so much more lively with a bit of colour that isn’t black (as much as he finds Gerry’s style endearing). Lilies perhaps, as are Michael’s default favourites. He’ll have to ask Gerry which flowers he prefers, though if he had to guess, he’d go with roses.

A bit forward, that. Maybe not roses. 

Actually he should probably leave flowers of any kind until after he’s made sure Gerry is neither about to die or disown him as a friend. 

He does end up buying a single red icing piper from the local Tesco Extra and turning up to the coffee shop early so he can buy the most appetising cupcake and ice ‘sorry’ on it as best he can.

He is waiting there, wringing his hands under the table, when Gerry arrives. Unsurprisingly, Gerry’s changed his clothes in the meantime and his hair is still wet from the shower he’s taken. His skin looks slightly more… natural than usual, and Michael realises that Gerry hasn’t bothered to put makeup on. He looks softer, cosier like this, and Michael feels his face heating. Now isn’t the time, but Gerry just looks so nice in a skirt. He cannot help it.

The chair makes an awful scraping sound as Gerry pulls it out to sit, and somehow it makes the air twice as awkward. 

“So. That happened,” Gerry says. His face is schooled into neutrality, and Michael feels his pulse spike. 

“I got you a cupcake,” Michael says weakly, gesturing to the cupcake on the table in front of him. 

Gerry stares at it for a moment, eyebrows raising, and then he snorts so loud people from the nearest tables look over at them in alarm. 

“I— I _tried,”_ Michael says, a little frustrated, but Gerry waves him off. 

“No, I love it. I’ll treasure it forever— until I eat it, obviously.” Gerry smiles, but it quickly turns into a grimace. “Look, I… I’m…” Gerry shakes his head. I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t realise…” 

“Frankly I should have come up with something better than extinguishing you.” 

“Yeah, well, I should’ve been more careful handling the Leitner.” Gerry peels off the cupcake case and starts eating it messily. Michael feels he should probably look away. 

“... Were you trying to _shred_ it—?” 

“Mmm mm—” Gerry swallows— “No no, it was a trash compactor. I finally got my hands on one… well, literally, after Jan suggested it a few weeks ago. I must be on the right track if it’s trying to kill me.” 

“A trash compactor,” Michael repeats. “For the Vast Leitners? From your second day?” 

“Look, it was really fucking expensive, and if you don’t ask me where I got the money neither of us have to get in trouble for anything I did or didn’t do.” 

That allows Michael to put a few pieces together, and he relaxes back into his chair. He smiles, teasing. “I was wondering where you got the money to travel so much, wearing clothes like that,” he says, gesturing to Gerry’s distressed t-shirt. 

“Hey!” Gerry growls. “Talk to me about fashion when you’ve moved on from the 70s!” 

Michael sneaks a look down at his clothes, having honestly forgotten what he’d decided to wear today. Gerry has a point. He looks back up to see Gerry’s mouth is quivering, desperately trying to hold back a smile, and then they both dissolve into giggles. 

“You’ve already,” Gerry starts, composes himself, starts again. “You’ve already ruined one of my outfits today, Michael. Don’t ruin this one too.” 

Michael hides his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to!” he groans. “I was just trying to help!” 

Gerry peels his fingers back from his face so he can look Michael in the eye whether Michael wants him to or not. “I know,” he says. “And in all seriousness. Thank you.” 

Michael’s heart grows several sizes at the earnestness in Gerry’s voice. “You’re welcome,” he intends to say, but it comes out as a whisper. He clears his throat. “Finish your cupcake, I spent several pounds on it.” 

Gerry complies without further prodding, though he does grumble under his breath, “Look at you, mister moneybags, with several pounds to spare.” 

Technically speaking he absolutely did not have those pounds to spare on the cupcake _or_ the clock a few weeks back, but foregoing his usual morning coffee until his next paycheck comes in has been sorting that problem out, so he doesn’t mind. And he’s not about to tell Gerry that, anyway. 

Instead he says, “And I’ll spare you several more, so watch out,” just to see Gerry try to hide another smile.

Definitely worth it, he thinks.

* * *

Michael insists on being present later when Gerry has another go at the Vast Leitners in case a similar problem happens, which is why he finds himself, like a moth drawn to the flame, yet again down in Gerry’s office. Michael decides it’s not just wishful thinking; the contours of the room have shaped themselves almost unnoticeably to be slightly more intricate, more interesting. More suited to Gerry. As if to counter the hold the Vast had on him by staking a claim of its own, however miniscule. And now Michael feels as though he’s fully in _Gerry_ territory when he ends up there.

Alone with him.

It’s happening a lot, and on company time, but when he’d mentioned it to Gerry he’d responded, “Stick it to the man!” and if the man in question is Elias, Michael can’t help but to agree. He doesn’t worry much about how Miss Robinson is getting on. She and Jan have been working on something together recently that has involved many trips out of the office, and when she is in, she is never shy about calling for him when she needs him. 

He _does_ have his own statements that he is following up on, but he can only go as fast as Miss Robinson actually gets through statements, and she isn’t doing that too often these days. Michael figures he’s probably okay to put it off for a little while longer. 

Plus. Gerry’s pretty hot when he’s being intense about Leitners. There’s an intensity to him and his narrowed eyes at times like this where he is single minded, where his hands don’t twitch for one of his cigarettes, where he doesn’t worry his lip in his teeth, but instead manages a stillness of character and concentration that Michael could never hope to achieve. And it’s beautiful, and not a little scary when he gets that expression on his face that means someone’s in trouble and usually that someone is an ancient evil book. 

“Goodbye, you little fuck,” Gerry says as he starts the trash compactor. Michael stares at his eyes, searching for the glaze he’d had earlier, but it doesn’t come. 

The room shifts, a feeling like dread pooling in his stomach, and the air thins around them as if they’re at the very top of a mountain. It feels like they’re about to jump. Michael’s stomach lurches, and he leans back against the door frame and tries to keep still despite his lightheadedness. 

“Gerry, faster,” he breathes, his voice sounding far away, and he looks back at Gerry to see his eyes are wide and panicked. Gerry’s movements speed up, though Michael cannot see exactly what he is doing with his blurring vision. 

“No, no, no—” Gerry is muttering under his breath.

A breeze catches Michael from the back and he sways forward onto the balls of his feet. Then onto his toes. Gerry’s launching out of his chair, the trash compactor evidently handled as much as it can be, and the next thing Michael knows he is being pushed up against the wall and held there by desperate hands. His vision swims, and it is all he can do to let himself be held, and to not look down. 

The whirring sound stops. The room shifts again, and suddenly Michael can breathe. He falls forward onto Gerry, but this time it doesn’t feel like he’s about to fall to his death. He feels solid. He feels safe. 

Gerry’s saying his name. 

“—with me Michael? Fuck, Michael, say something or I’m going to have to call someone—” 

“I’m okay!” Michael pushes away from Gerry, as much as he doesn’t want to, so he can catch his eye. “I’m. Shaken, but okay.” 

Gerry lets go of him to drag a hand over his face, then lets it drop. “It went after you this time instead of me,” he says. “It— I thought— you _shouldn’t_ have done that. You could have died!” 

“It’s done now,” Michael insists, though he risks a glance at the trash compactor to make sure. He’s never used one before, but he’s pretty sure it’s fine. Gerry sags, whether in relief or otherwise, and Michael puts a smile on for his benefit. “And we’re two Leitners down. That means you’ve officially done more work today than I have.” 

Gerry wrinkles his nose at that and slinks away, back to his desk chair. He looks tired. “Shoo, you,” he says. “I don’t want to be responsible if you get written up.” 

Privately, Michael doubts that’s even possible. In his entire time here, he has never seen Elias fire a member of Archive staff, though he’s seen it happen in other departments. He thinks Miss Robinson probably has something to do with it. However, it’s clear from Gerry’s body language— the tightness of his shoulders, the drumming of his fingers on the table— that he needs some time alone, so he agrees without a fight and leaves Gerry to his brooding. 

He has work he can be doing, anyway. 

He breathes an actual sigh of relief when he reaches the lounge area. There’s something about the corridor to the Leitner room that puts him on edge. Something in the walls, the way they seem a bit too… malleable. Like a trap about to spring. But up here with the old library wood and questionable water cooler, he feels safer. 

Neither Jan nor Miss Robinson are in today, and the Archives are quiet and echoey. Michael whistles a tune as he opens the door of his office just to hear it echo back to him. He closes the door right after, though. Prefers the surety of the enclosed space, especially today. 

The case he is researching involves a hole that apparently swallowed a tour of explorers in Chislehurst Caves about a week ago. It has since been covered up, according to the person who gave the statement, but Miss Robinson seems to think there is some importance in determining whether the hole is still there or not. 

Michael spends the next several minutes on Google, doing cursory research on the caves. It’s open close to Christmas so he doesn’t have to worry about having to rush the job. It’s pretty easy to find out through reviews when it gets the most traffic and thus when it will be easiest to slip away from their tour unnoticed, and to buy—

To buy two tickets, just in case it’s something Gerry might want to do with him. Is he coming on too strong? He’s not even sure whether he’s flirting or trying to be Gerry’s friend. Both, he supposes. Whichever Gerry is willing to give. 

He’s seen Gerry around the other staff sometimes, passing in corridors and in the lounge when Gerry’s needed phone signal to look something up. Not in a stalky way, but Michael does work in the Archives and sometimes it gets lonely when Jan and Miss Robinsons are away. And Gerry… he thinks he’s seen a difference? He thinks Gerry is more comfortable around him than the others. But with rose-tinted glasses— alright, with _crush_ glasses— it’s hard to tell if what he’s seeing isn’t just what he’s wanting to see. 

Goodness, it’s been a while since he’s had a proper crush on someone. Not since school, not since Ryan. He’d forgotten how uncertain it all seemed. But he’s okay with that. Okay to give Gerry as much space as he needs, okay to adhere to set boundaries. No talk about his mother, nor his history with the powers. Hey, Michael gets it! It’s not as if his own family history’s much fun either, and everyone in this bloody building probably has a story or two about a dangerous run-in that’s left them with a vendetta against the powers. He certainly does. 

It helps that Michael doesn’t actually mind being rejected all that much. He supposes he’s built up an immunity to it. He has a bit less fear when it comes to the social side of things, because frankly he’s already hit rock-bottom lonely-wise so he can only go up, regardless of how terrible he is. Sure, he needs people, connections, comfort. He’s just not so afraid to seek them out anymore. 

With Gerry, however, it's a different story. There's something about Gerry that makes him not want to mess this up. Something special he can't quite place. He's confident, now, that he hasn't lost Gerry's friendship. He’s not so confident about asking him out. 

Although… he thinks to the tickets he’s just bought, and the flowers he wants to buy…

Michael smiles, grabs his coat, and writes a quick ‘back in five’ on a post-it note he sticks to his door. It’s unlikely he’s going to see Gerry over the Christmas break, holidays being what they are, and Michael being the type of person not worth catching up with over breaks like these, so this one last chance to see Gerry for a while is important.

Lucky for him, he has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	4. Deep Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gerry hit up what may be a stronghold of the Buried, but that's not why Michael has butterflies.

Michael reenters the Institute blushing at what he’s about to do. He has no reason to hide the bouquet of flowers he’s just bought, seeing as he knows some researchers who make no secret of seducing police for research and the like, but it still feels strangely intimate to have his intentions so big and obvious and colourful in his hands. 

He passes Elias on his way down, because of course he does. 

Elias barely spares the bouquet a look, however, and fixes him with an intense if not unkind stare. “Hello Michael. Have you seen the Archivist recently?” 

Michael frowns. “Miss Robinson? She’s out doing field research with Jan, I think. She left a note. I assumed she’d told you.” 

Elias grimaces. “Yes, I’d thought as much. Still, sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.” 

Michael huffs out a laugh despite the awkwardness of it all. “I think I know what you mean,” he says, eyes flickering down to the flowers in his hands. Elias follows his gaze, and then his expression turns knowing. 

“For Gerard?” he asks, though it’s clear he knows the answer. 

“Yes, I was— to convince him to—” 

“It’s quite alright,” Elias reassures him. “Gerard Keay doesn’t actually work here, legally, so any rules regarding  _ workplace romance  _ don’t apply in this situation.”

“I… oh. Good!” Michael says, somewhat confounded that this is an actual conversation he’s having. 

“Although,” Elias continues, analysing his bouquet.

“Sir?”

“I would take out… these two,” Elias plucks two purple lisianthus flowers from the bunch before Michael can protest. “His mother loved the things,” he explains indulgently. “Stands to reason that Gerard would hate them.” 

Michael doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “I suppose it does look better without them,” he decides. Elias inclines his head. 

“I had better be off,” he says, twirling the two flowers between his fingers. “Best of luck.” 

And then he’s gone. Michael stares at the bouquet, convincing himself that it really does look better without the purple flowers, and wondering why Elias even knows about Gerry’s mother in the first place. He mulls it over as he makes his way down into the belly of the Archives. 

Gerard Keay, he’d said. Keay. Like… like Mary Keay. Oh dear lord, Gerry’s mother is Mary Keay. 

Michael stops for a moment, checks that he’s alone in the corridors, then laughs. An inappropriate response, probably. It’s a kind of bewildered, sad laughter. The things Gerry must have gone through, must have seen. He sends a silent thank you to Elias for not letting him remind Gerry of her. He’s difficult enough for people to like as it is without being associated with Mary Keay’s ilk.

He clears his throat and tries his best to move on. He does, after all, have a plan, and fortunately for both him and Gerry this one doesn’t involve fire extinguishers. 

He raps on the door twice before entering so he doesn’t take Gerry completely by surprise. Gerry looks up from his desk, surprised to see him. His eyes look brighter than they had before.

“Michael,” Gerry says by way of hello. “To what do I—  _ oh.”  _

“So you know I value you as a friend and dedicated not-coworker,” Michael says, skipping pleasantries now Gerry has seen the flowers. 

Gerry swallows, his eyes flickering between Michael and the bouquet. 

“On Friday…” 

“Mm?” 

“Would you, er…” 

“Mm-hmm?” 

“Like to break into a place with me?” 

Gerry’s mouth parts in surprise, but then his eyes crinkle and Michael knows he hasn’t misstepped. 

“Michael, I thought you’d never ask,” he says, accepting the flowers from him. The tips of Gerry’s fingers brush his and he nearly drops them at his touch. He pushes the bouquet— and his hand by association— into Gerry’s grip, but Gerry’s hold on the flowers is delicate and reverent. Michael pulls his hand away and retreats. 

He puts on a grin. “Friday, four o’clock. Meaning we’ll need to leave at about four. Good?”

“Very good. Does that mean I get to have my name on the crime chart?” Gerry looks extremely excited at the prospect.

“Definitely,” Michael answers, as if he could say no to Gerry. “What’s, er, what’s that?” he asks, gesturing to the Leitner on the table and the tiny pieces of paper surrounding it. 

Gerry doesn’t put the flowers down as he settles back into his work. “It’s an Eye one. I’ve tried cutting out all the eye illustrations in it but they keep coming back.” 

“Probably because you’re in the Institute,” Michael says. “If you took it with us on Friday, perhaps it might work better down in the caves.” 

Gerry mulls it over, biting his lip, while Michael tries not to stare. 

“It’s certainly worth a try,” he decides, catching Michael’s eye again and giving him a rare smile of gratitude that makes him melt. 

He clears his throat. “I’m glad,” he says, and then makes a hasty retreat. He practically dashes out the door. 

“Michael, wait!” 

And then stops in his tracks. This whole crush thing is. Is hard. He pokes his head back through the doorway to find the smile hasn’t left Gerry’s face. 

“Thank you for the flowers,” he says. 

“Four o’clock Friday,” he squeaks, then is gone.

* * *

Michael had been completely terrified of the half an hour drive he was going to have to make with Gerry right next to him. Had been, until Gerry got into the passenger side of his Beetle and fell asleep within minutes. 

It’s horribly endearing, and Gerry’s quiet little snores don’t help. From what Michael has gathered, Gerry doesn’t often sleep well, and he has near constant dark circles under his eyes. When Michael comments, Gerry dismisses him, saying that it fits his image. So Michael doesn’t mind letting him rest while he can. In fact, although he was looking forward to going into the caves with Gerry, Michael might just leave him there to get more rest if he doesn’t wake up when Michael stops the car.

In the meantime, Michael puts on the Twilight Zone radio show quietly in the background and tuts at the traffic whenever it congests. It’s a pleasant enough drive, and Michael goes over his plan in his head. They’ll have to wait quite a while for the place to close, so while Gerry works on the Leitner with a pair of scissors, Michael intends to do some knitting.

Michael’s thinking about knitting patterns when Gerry shifts in his sleep. His head ends up on Michael’s shoulder, and Michael actually gasps aloud. He’s distinctly thankful that Gerry isn’t awake to hear it. 

It’s probably dangerous, while he’s driving. There’s a distinct possibility that Gerry’s head will fall from his shoulder and cause Michael to crash, but nobody ever claimed Michael was smart, so he just drives more carefully and trusts that they’ll be fine. 

They’re in Chislehurst by the time Gerry wakes up with a start. Thankfully, they’re at a stoplight when it happens, and Gerry stutters as he rights himself. 

“I, oh, I’m s—”

“It’s fine,” Michael says, too quickly. 

Gerry yawns, and Michael curses the stoplight for turning green right at this second and forcing him to look away. From out of the corner of his eye, he can see Gerry rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “How close are we?” 

“Close.” 

“Oh. I— is that the Twilight Zone?” 

Heat creeps into Michael’s cheeks as he nods affirmative. Gerry snorts.

“Figures you’d like that stuff.” He pauses. “Have you ever considered you should probably be more scared?” 

Michael frowns, risking a glance at Gerry as he pushes down the indicator. “Scared of the Twilight Zone?” he asks, but before Gerry can respond he answers the question Gerry actually intended. He thinks of Ryan. “Of course I get scared. But there’s no point in not living my life because of a little fear. That’s what the powers want, isn’t it?” 

It’s hypocritical of him to say, considering how long he had not lived his life because of what happened back then, but he likes to think he’s learned better since.

Gerry is quiet for a moment. “I thought the Institute didn’t like telling its employees what's actually going on. About the supernatural and stuff. And the powers.” 

Michael clears his throat. “It doesn’t.” 

“Then how—?” 

“Jan and I, we record and research statements. I’ve been doing so for years. The things you read… and the things I overhear Miss Robinson talking about, though I don’t think she knows I know, and I won’t worry her with the knowledge. You don’t work in the Archives and remain ignorant for long, in my experience.”

Gerry’s brow furrows. He looks almost angry, though the sleepiness on his face lessens the bite of it. “If you know she’s keeping secrets from you, why do you stay?”

Michael lets out a short laugh, taken aback. “Gerry, she’s an old woman. A wise old woman, a dedicated old woman, but still. If it comforts her to leave us in the dark about the things that go bump in the night, can I really blame her?” 

“She’s more than that, you know,” Gerry says quietly.

Michael smiles. “Yes,” he says fondly. “She is.” 

Gerry sighs, stretches. “Oh. Are those crisps?” 

“Mm. Tyrrells. Help yourself.” 

They arrive shortly after. For a while it feels like just a day trip. Gerry offers to carry the backpack with their things in it despite the fact that the pattern of it clashes with his black on black outfit, arguing that Michael drove them here so it’s only fair. Michael gently reminds him that it’s his fault they’re here in the first place, it being Michael’s own research, to which Gerry tells him to shut up. It makes Michael laugh. Gerry’s in a better mood after that. 

Michael’s been into caves like these before, back when his parents were convinced that the only thing wrong with him was that he didn’t get out of the house enough. They thought he was just a moody teen already, and when Ryan went missing their patience for him lessened while Michael’s lashing out did not. 

“Uh, ticket desk, Michael,” Gerry says. 

Michael hands over proof of their booking, and the receptionist gives them a wink. “Date night is it, boys?” 

“Uh—” 

“We’re here for business  _ and  _ for pleasure,” Gerry cuts in smoothly, greatly appeasing the receptionist. He takes Michael’s hand and pulls him away towards the entrance to the tour. 

As Michael had hoped, the tour is packed with people, mainly families with children who had just come from school and are keen to let out their pent up energy. The vibe is chaotic, and perfect for their purposes. 

They each take a heavy belt and helmet pack from the bench like everyone else. Gerry examines the oxygen box while Michael struggles with his hard hat.

“At least if we get eaten by the Buried we won’t run out of oxygen,” Gerry says.

“We won’t get, ugh, eaten by the Buried,” Michael grunts. 

Gerry curls his fingers around Michael’s wrists and tugs them away. Michael makes a questioning noise, not entirely trusting himself to speak, and Gerry makes quick work of the fastenings at his helm. He gives a satisfied hum when he is done, brushing a single lock of hair back from Michael’s face, and then steps back.

Michael has to stop himself from leaning back into Gerry’s space.

He’s saved by the tour guide announcing the next tour starting, and they all file into something approximating order, waiting to be allowed into the elevator shaft down. Their group is large enough that it warrants two elevator trips down, and even then it’s a very close fit. Michael finds himself pressed up against Gerry— and other strangers— and when their eyes catch Michael struggles not to laugh. Gerry, in his way, bites down on a smile. 

This close to Gerry, right up in his personal space, Michael has to admit some things, both to himself and to Gerry. 

“You know, there are statements mentioning you in the Archives. And sometimes they’re right about you, I’m afraid,” he whispers into Gerry’s ear. 

Gerry tilts his face towards him. “What do you mean?” 

Michael waits a beat. “Your hair really is terribly dyed.” 

Gerry pushes him away as much as he can in the enclosed space while Michael giggles, not particularly thrown by the looks thrown his way by their elevator companions. “Fuck off,” Gerry whispers, smiling through the curtain of his hair, and Michael laughs even harder, having to lean on Gerry to avoid knocking into everyone else.

When they get out of the elevator, Michael can immediately see that they’re much closer to the surface than they had been when he’d been underground as a teenager. For one, the feeling of compression he’d been expecting isn’t as intense as he remembered, and secondly, he can see a bathroom and supply closet built into the cave. Ideally, he’d like to take the closet, but as he can’t predict when a member of staff might need it and find them in there, it’s in the bathroom that Michael and Gerry are going to spend the next several hours. 

Michael doesn’t listen to what the tour guide is telling the group. The restlessness of the children does much to hide Michael’s whispers as he points out the bathroom to Gerry, who makes a face but otherwise understands. They hang back until they’re at the back of the group, and then when everyone’s out of sight, they slip inside. 

It’s instantly clear that this bathroom is rarely if ever used. Most likely it’s a staff bathroom that just happens to double as a public one. There are several disabled cubicles and several smaller ones, and Michael feels a little guilty about ushering Gerry into the disabled one but it fits their purpose exactly in that it’s large enough for them to hide out in until after hours. There’s also a baby changing table inside, and after checking that it smells sanitised, Michael pulls it out and hops up. 

“Knitting please, dear?” 

Gerry rolls his eyes as he slings his backpack off. “While you’re knitting, I’m going to save the world,” Gerry grumbles as he dutifully passes Michael his knitting. “How long are we staying here?” 

“Until closing time. Don’t worry, we’re in the last timeslot of the day. We’ve only got to wait two hours.” 

Gerry groans. “This was why you brought me flowers when you asked me to come, wasn’t it.” 

“Yes,” Michael lies.

He gets to work on his knitting fast, and is grateful to find that as usual, it makes the time fly past. He’s chosen quite a simple pattern that only requires knit and purl stitches as he’d wanted the endeavour to be as low stress as possible, considering they’re here to trespass and potentially spy on a hole in the ground that eats people while nobody even knows they’re there. 

Gerry, meanwhile, works on cutting his Leitner. He doesn’t hear any groaning or complaining from Gerry the entire time, so he assumes it’s working. 

Only once in the entire day does someone else enter the bathroom. From the point the door opens to the point where the person clearly leaves, Michael locks eyes with Gerry, mouth pressed tightly shut, Gerry’s twisted into a grimace. When they’re gone, Gerry drops his head into his arms in silent laughter at the stupidity of their situation, and it is all Michael can do to watch him, and be at ease. 

Michael checks his watch periodically, though it’s pretty obvious when the place shuts from the fact that power is cut off to the tunnels, and the both of them are drenched in darkness. Thankfully it’s not a problem for them; they’d have needed their head torches when they went deeper anyway.

“Time to go,” Michael says, switching his torch on. A second later Gerry does the same. They pack their things away pretty quickly, though Gerry keeps the Leitner in hand.

“If we do find the killer chasm I’m going to chuck this down it.” 

Michael’s forehead creases. “And that will help us how?” 

“Oh, it won’t. I just think it’d be a good place to put it.” 

“Ah.” 

The path out from the elevator entrance is steep and winding, but as the website had said, very straightforward in terms of finding their way. They check every corner and every alcove and every horse stable (it is Gerry who finds the taxidermied horse in the last one and gives a strangled yell, and Michael who laughs at him until he cries.) There do not appear to be holes of any kind absolutely anywhere, and Michael must conclude that the place is child-safe to the extreme. 

“So, no trash pit for my Leitner?” Gerry complains, disappointed. 

“There does not appear to be one, no,” Michael says. “Still. It would have been noticed by now if there was anything out of the ordinary. Maybe we just have to wait longer.” 

They settle down by the wall of the cave in the area they decide most likely to be the scene of the disappearances. After a few minutes, both of them have shuffled so they’re shoulder to shoulder.

A fat lot of nothing happens for a good long while. 

“If you want to have another nap, go ahead,” Michael says quietly. 

“What, like, on your shoulder or something?” Gerry responds, gruff and likely embarrassed about waking up on Michael in the car. 

So Michael shrugs. “You need the sleep, and I’m here.” 

He almost expects Gerry to completely brush him off, or laugh at his—  _ softness,  _ as so many have done before. But after a moment, Gerry takes off his hard hat, maneuvers Michael’s arm around him and pillows his head into Michael’s neck. He’s not sure if Gerry actually sleeps, but he is at least relaxed against Michael, and that’s good enough. His warmth, deep down in the cold and dark, gives Michael comfort. 

It is, by his watch, an hour and a half later when Gerry says something under his breath that Michael doesn’t catch.

“What was that?” 

“I was just thinking,” Gerry says, voice soft. “You know in the Archives, it always feels like you’re being watched?” 

“Mm?” 

“Well, right now… it feels the exact opposite.” 

Michael holds Gerry tighter against him for a second as he realises he’s right. But he does not allow himself to waver. He won’t push Gerry away with his own weakness. “I’m sure it’s just because we’re underground,” he says. “In any case, I doubt anything interesting is going to happen if it hasn’t already. It’s late, and we’ve been alone for a while.” 

He regrets the loss of heat when Gerry pulls away to fasten his helmet back on. He pats himself down, then more frantically pats the area around him. Michael backs away, trying to help direct the light to whatever Gerry’s looking for. All that’s there is a pile of ashes on the ground. 

“The Leitner,” Michael breathes. Gerry looks stunned. “We did achieve something by coming down here then,” he says, cheered. “Let’s go before our luck turns bad.” 

They leave without further fanfare, until they get to the elevator. Gerry stalls.

“The elevator is big. And uh, loud. How are we going to get back out without them noticing? We’re not going to have to stay the night, are we?” 

“Ye of little faith,” Michael sighs theatrically. “There’s an emergency stairwell we can use behind it. Built in case the power goes out and people need to escape.”

Gerry gives him a look.

“I’m not  _ completely  _ useless,” Michael protests, not fooling anyone, but Gerry’s shaking his head.

“That’s not what I— you’re not useless. Not at all. I just meant— it’s. You’re. Impressive. With your research.” 

“Oh.” Michael swallows thickly. “Um. Let’s, ah, let’s go.” 

The drive back is quiet, like before, though Gerry doesn’t sleep this time. Michael stops at a McDonald’s drive thru and gets them both a Happy Meal, which makes Gerry hit him on the shoulder, though not even remotely hard enough to hurt. At some point Gerry fiddles with the car stereo until he finds the Twilight Zone, and by the time they reach London, Gerry’s hand is resting on the gearstick, on top of Michael’s. 

He remembers where Gerry’s flat is, and though he worries Gerry might find this stalkerish, his friend is simply grateful to him. 

“I’ll see you after the break, I suppose,” Gerry drawls, lingering just outside the passenger door. 

Michael nods. “Maybe Jan and Miss Robinson will be back by then.” 

Gerry winces. “I… I hope they’re alright. I just have a bad feeling…” 

“Don’t worry,” Michael reaches over to rub circles into Gerry’s dangling hand, trying for comfort. Gerry doesn’t pull away, though he stares at the hand until Michael stops. “I’m sure Jan is taking good care of her.” 

“Hmm,” is what Gerry replies.

Michael doesn’t like to part for Winter with Gerry looking so doubtful, but he is wary to overstay his welcome, so he closes the passenger door and pulls away.

Christmas passes, lonely and uneventful apart from a few texts back and forth with Gerry and Jan, though Jan’s stop abruptly around the new year. When he arrives at the Institute on the second Monday of January, it is to find the mood subdued and somber. When he arrives, this is not unexpected.

Rosie does not ask him how his holiday was, or even say hello. She simply tells him, “It’s in the great hall. I’ve already been.” 

Everyone he passes is wearing black, so he doesn’t have to worry about Gerry not fitting the dress code at least… but even that internal attempt at a joke doesn’t lift Michael’s mood. He only received the email yesterday, and he has not entirely recovered. 

He reaches the great hall, and the chalkboard slate outside says:

_ ‘Jan Kilbride _

_ In memoriam.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the delay on this one. My laptop got stolen and I am ever grateful to @paintedviolet for letting me borrow hers for the time being. The next chapter will also likely be slow coming out due to my working on the GerryMichael Big Bang, which you can sign up for on tumblr if you give it a search. See you next time :)


	5. Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry and Michael face facts about their dead colleague.

When Gerry enters the great hall, the first thing he notices is that Gertrude Robinson isn’t there. It doesn’t surprise him. The second thing he notices is that Michael is. It’s the first time he’s seen Michael in weeks.

Few people are actually in the hall. There is a small snack table, but evidently this isn’t supposed to be a single service but a place people can come throughout the day to pay their respects before the whole ordeal is pushed under the rug. Michael is standing by the empty casket staring at nothing, garbed all in black. It doesn’t suit him. Gerry is by his side before he can think.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hushed. He wonders where the rest of the Archive team is. There has to be more than this. Michael shouldn’t be alone.

Michael simply closes his eyes. “It’s what happens,” he replies. His voice wobbles. “People die. Everyone I know. And now I’m the only one left.” 

“The only…” Gerry wants to offer more comfort, but he’s stuck on that. “But— on the chart, there were three names at least,” he says, suddenly unsure of his own memory. “You, Jan, and—” 

“Adelard Decker,” Michael says, soft. “A joke.” 

Gerry braces himself on the casket as the whole situation dawns on him. Michael is the only researcher left. Jan is dead. There is no way it was an accident. Not with Gertrude there.

And he knows through intimate personal experience that Gertrude is capable of murder.

“I think you need to quit,” Gerry says. 

Michael’s head whips up to face him, and he flinches at the hollowness in Michael’s eyes. But it doesn’t stay long. Soon, they are filled with righteous determination.  _ “What.”  _

“It’s dangerous. An archiving job shouldn’t be dangerous. God, as funny as it is, your research team shouldn’t have a crime count. This is wrong.” 

Michael takes a step away from him. Small, probably subconscious, but Gerry still notices, and it hurts. 

“I’m not going to quit,” Michael says, enunciating the words very carefully. 

“Michael. Jan is  _ dead.”  _

“And you think I’m, what? Going the same way?” Michael asks, incredulous. Gerry doesn’t understand how Michael can’t see the danger he’s in. 

“I don’t think you can help it.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Michael instantly bristles. He’s never seen Michael sad or  _ angry  _ before. He has no idea how to handle this. 

“Don’t you think I know I’m— useless? Pointless? You don’t have to, to throw it in my face, Gerry.” Michael cuts Gerry off before he can protest. “I have to stay, regardless. I can’t leave Miss Robinson on her own. It would be— I’m not a bad person. I can’t do that.” 

“I’m not saying you are,” Gerry pleads. “I don’t think you’re useless, I don’t… how can you think you’re pointless? But you  _ will  _ be both of those things when you’re  _ dead!” _

Michael is shaking his head. “And what will you do, in the Archives alone? Will  _ you  _ finally sign a contract?” 

Gerry scoffs. “There’s a reason I don’t want to work here, Michael. It’s the same reason I want you to quit. It’s not right, being here. If you leave, I’ll just take the Leitners and deal with them elsewhere.” 

Frankly, the only reason he hasn’t done that already is Michael’s installation here. 

Michael’s gaze is distant. “I can’t quit. I  _ can’t,  _ Gerry. It’s the only place… I have to be here. I have to prove that I can…” he sighs harshly, almost choked, and he presses a hand to his mouth to stop what Gerry strongly suspects is a panicked sob from emerging. He takes a second to compose himself, and then is back to distant. “This isn’t a discussion we’re having. I stay.”

Gerry has to pace, has to pinch the bridge of his nose, has to pull on his hair in frustration. “I don’t know how to make you understand,” he grits out. “You’re my only friend. Do you know how much—? I just want you to be safe.” 

Michael laughs, brittle and mirthless. “I have never been safe. None of us are ever really safe. At least here, I can help. Here, Miss Robinson needs me.” 

_ “I  _ need—” he cuts himself off, scoffs. “To do what?” he spits out. “Guide the newbies around? Do research into cases she doesn’t give a fuck about? Keep the kettle warm while she’s out doing God knows what?” 

Genuine hurt flickers across Michael’s face. His voice is quiet, resigned. “If that’s what she needs me to do, then yes. I will. Not all of us can save the world in a bathroom, Gerry. Some of us just knit.” Michael makes a low noise of disgust and turns away, closing the conversation. Gerry can’t tell if the disgust is for him or for Michael, and he doesn’t know how to take his words back.

All he wanted to do was comfort Michael, keep him safe. And now this. 

He’s halfway out the door before he realises he’s just passed Elias. The three of them are the only ones in the hall; their argument probably drove the rest of the mourners out. He can’t help himself as he stops to watch.

Elias murmurs something so quietly Gerry can’t hear it and places a hand on Michael’s shoulder, comforting him in a way Gerry couldn’t. He feels something hot and dark in the pit of his stomach, suddenly possessive and angry that Elias can initiate the contact so easily when it takes Gerry a whole week to work up the courage to touch Michael’s hand. 

Then Elias takes something from his jacket, two somethings, and he hands one to Michael. A flower. A purple lisianthus flower, like the ones his mum used to keep on the windowsills before Gertrude murdered her for him. It’s not enough for Gerry to turn away, but it’s enough to make him feel nauseous. 

Michael nods at something Elias says, eyes wet and cheeks deep red. He and Elias both place their flowers on the casket, but while Elias makes to leave, Michael stays still, arm outstretched. He doesn’t let go of the flower. 

Sudden pressure on his arm makes him jerk, and he finds Elias offering the same expression of sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. “I hope you’ve had a good Christmas.” 

Gerry wrenches his arm back and storms out.

* * *

He can’t concentrate on the Leitners. He itches with the knowledge that Michael is so close, only a staircase and a few twists of the corridor away. He tries, stays put for another half an hour by the clock that Michael bought him, before he slams  _ The Prince  _ back into his box and abandons the futile effort. 

He doesn’t even know what he’ll say to Michael. He’s not sorry for telling him to quit. He still wants him to; Michael’s his friend and he needs him safe. But he is sorry for how he said it. 

He swings round the corner, fist poised to knock. He doesn’t bring his knuckles down, though. Michael’s light is off. He’s not in. 

“Michael brought me tea,” Gertrude Robinson says from the door of her office. “I sent him home for the day. Told him he could afford to start his year a day later.” 

Gerry’s face is a mask of nonchalance. He doesn’t trust Gertrude, as much as he wishes he could after what she did for him. “Did you kill Jan?” 

Gertrude doesn’t react to that. “It was necessary to stop the ritual.” 

“Are you going to kill him.” 

“I do not intend to kill Michael Shelley, no. Do you have any more murders you’d like to accuse me of?” 

“You don’t own me for killing my mum.” 

“No,” she agrees. Then, “I could always use your help with the rituals. You’re more competent, more knowledgeable about the powers than any of my previous assistants.” 

Gerry levels her a flat look. “I’m busy,” he says. 

“He is literally incapable of leaving, Gerard,” she says, apropos of nothing. “No-one who works in the Archive can. It was clever of you to refuse employment.” 

Gerry swallows. “So he’s trapped here.” 

“Yes.” 

“But my— my dad left, didn’t he? When I was born?” 

Gertrude sighs, shifts the papers she’s holding. “Your father was missing for some time before he died. It is possible he left. It is more likely he didn’t. And if he did leave, I have yet to figure out how.” 

“Fuck.”

Gertrude watches him for a moment longer, but when it’s clear he has no intention of joining her, she disappears back into her office. 

His eyes find the crime chart. Before the break, he was excited to add his name to it. Now, he considers adding Gertrude’s name and another column of crimes committed. No-one, according to the chart, considered murder something Gertrude’s research would likely need them to do. 

He tries Michael’s door, in case Michael is in and having a nap or something, but it’s locked. He considers a text, but it feels too impersonal now, and he hates calling people. He deliberates before returning to his Leitners, bringing  _ The Prince  _ and its notes to the lounge and working on the couch. 

Just in case Michael comes back.

* * *

Hours later, Michael hasn’t come back and Gerry has barely written three sentences. He  _ has  _ Michael’s number. He  _ can  _ text him. But he just… can’t do it.

Gertrude’s door opens, and Gerry jumps.

“Oh, I thought you’d gone home. Did you get very far?” 

“No,” Gerry grits out.

“A shame. You should really go home for the night. I didn’t even intend to stay this late; Michael usually interrupts to tell me it’s time to leave.” 

Gerry feels some small, vicious amount of second-hand pride, however misplaced. Gertrude does need Michael for something. 

“There’s no point waiting,” Gertrude continues. “Whatever you do, he’ll be in tomorrow.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I asked him to be.” 

A chill runs down Gerry’s spine at that. The horrible thing is, it almost comforts him. Michael has to be alright, at least today. Because he’s so devoted to Gertrude that he couldn’t possibly deny her. But it doesn’t bode well for his future, and that scares Gerry more than he cares to admit.

“I think I’ll stay,” Gerry says weakly. 

“Suit yourself,” Gertrude shrugs. Her heels echo down the hallway as she leaves, and Gerry wonders, does she wear trainers on the days she decides to get her hands dirty, or is she simply so above it all that her heels do not even impede her? 

Gerry groans. All he’s doing is thinking himself in circles. It was going so well until he got here. If they’d just paused that night before they parted…

It had been a good day. He tends to think that of the days he spends mostly with Michael. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the car, but in his defense, he’s been getting a shit amount of sleep for months now and with this development he doesn’t foresee himself getting much more. And then he’d woken up on Michael’s shoulder, and it had felt  _ right.  _ Until he’d gotten the sleep from his eyes, of course. Then he’d panicked. 

He stands by what he said in the car that day, too. He wishes Michael would be just a little more scared. And God, isn’t that a guilty thought. But at least then Gerry wouldn’t have to be so scared  _ for  _ him. And he is. He’s terrified in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. It’s different from the terror of his mum’s influence. It was awful and Gerry was desperate but that, at least, was a familiar kind of terror. One he’d known for his entire life. This is different. He doesn’t know how to deal with this.

He’s never had friends. Could never afford to. He’s never been viscerally afraid for someone else in this capacity before. He’s had concern for strangers, of course. He’s capable of empathy. He likes to help and spread good in the world, fight evil and all that nonsense. But being scared for someone that you— that you know and consider a friend, that’s. There’s a whole feeling of helplessness, of being behind a glass wall and having to watch.

He hates it. He really fucking hates it. 

He hates that within only a few months he’s found this person, this wonderful person, inside a giant mess of a situation that he can’t control. But God help him he feels safe with Michael, he feels good with Michael. 

He can’t have ruined that. He  _ can’t.  _

He’s not getting any more work done today, is he. No. Gerry packs up the book and his notes into the box and hauls it back down to his office. He doesn’t bother to tidy up much more than this. 

The Watched Pot is swarmed with people just out of work, dressed in black. He orders the seasonal special, a gingerbread milkshake-type drink, because it makes him feel angry. Bitter. No. Comforted by the influence Michael’s had on him, on his stupid drink-buying habits, despite his distance now. 

The cold is biting but it doesn’t rain on his way home. The forecast keeps saying it’s going to snow, but it hasn’t yet to his knowledge. Nonetheless he undresses fast when he finally gets in. Checks his phone for absolutely no reason halfway through, trips over his trousers while he’s distracted. He just can’t bear to be dressed head to toe in black right now, for once. It takes him a while to find items of clothing that aren’t black, but eventually he finds a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that do fine. 

He lights a cigarette and rummages through his stuff to find his ipod. Technically he’s not allowed to smoke in here but technically the fire alarm is disconnected so the landlord can go do one for all he cares. 

When the cigarette is out and he needs to find something else to occupy him before he makes ramen for dinner, his hand lands on a black permanent marker he’d forgotten to take back into the Institute. He had not been allowed tattoos before his mum died, as she’d worried they would prevent his entry into the skin book if there was not enough room on his skin for her own symbols. He had simply drawn onto his skin the eye doodles he liked so much until he got good at them. He hadn’t felt he’d needed them so much recently, but he finds comfort from drawing them on now. 

Probably shouldn’t, considering their association with the Institute, but some things you just need to reclaim for yourself, and he likes his eyes, dammit. He doesn’t know how many eyes he draws before his ipod runs out of battery, but he rolls over to charge it and decides, grudgingly, to make dinner. 

It’s easy enough, though not exactly fulfilling in any manner. 

He’s shovelling ramen into his mouth when his pocket buzzes. He startles, dropping his fork on the floor, but barely spares it a thought as he fishes out his phone to see that Michael is calling him. He’s never answered his phone faster. 

(In fact, he’s not entirely certain he’s ever answered his phone at all.)

“Michael? Are you okay?” he sounds breathless to his own ears, and he winces. 

Michael is giggling, and the sound completely throws him. “I, er, may need some help. If that’s alright.” 

Gerry blinks. “Are you drunk?” 

“Sobering,” Michael says quickly. “But not there yet. Not, not enough.” 

“Enough for what? What’s going on?” 

There’s a thunk on the other end of the phone, and Gerry tamps down on his overactive imagination to keep from worrying what exactly that might be. 

“There’s, ah, a cat in my apartment. It won’t go away.” A pause. “I don’t know if I want it to go away.” 

“A cat,” Gerry repeats. 

“Yes. Help.” 

When Michael sobers, he’ll remember his anger at Gerry. He might not want him there. Might kick him out.

… But he wants him there now, and Gerry can’t find it within him to say no. He sighs. 

“What’s your address again?” he asks. Michael cheers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayooo I have a laptop again! Sorry for the long wait but thank you very much for reading, feel free to leave a comment, and have a nice day!


End file.
